


Fading Petals

by womeninthesequel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Flowers, Growing Up, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womeninthesequel/pseuds/womeninthesequel
Summary: Instinctively, James reaches out to her. In the space between seconds, he changes his mind and drops his hand.Lily’s eyes follow the path of his hand, noting the split knuckles. Sluggishly, she lifts her hand and turns it in the light to show the coiling plant across the back of her fingers.“You have them too.”





	Fading Petals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beaubcxton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubcxton/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Kyra! You said you’ll accept angst for any occasion, so here we go…
> 
> Modified version of a flower soulmate AU prompt from Tumblr. Whenever one person gets injured, their soulmate has a flower appear in the same place.

She can’t help it. 

Whenever Petunia tells her that she cannot do something, Lily is immediately all the more determined to do whatever it is she supposedly can’t do. It’s like Petunia is the only person who knows how to flip a switch that Lily doesn’t even know she has until she finds herself in some new, ridiculous situation. 

Petunia’s lack of faith is more motivating than any gentle encouragement from her mother. From jumping off the highest point of the swings to eating an entire ice cream cone in a minute, she’s done it all. 

Yet, nothing Lily does or says pleases Petunia. 

At first, she tries leaving treats by her sister’s door or waiting for her to take the daily trek to the park at the end of the street. She tries asking her about her day at dinner and offers to wash the dishes so Petunia can dry, since Lily knows she likes that job better. 

When tugging on her hand and asking if they can all play together doesn’t work, she switches to trying to prove something. She doesn’t know what she is trying to prove or the best way to do it, clearly, since nothing works. 

So, she can’t explain exactly why or how she finds herself where she does. 

At the top of the tree, everything starts to look a little different. The well-known swings and playground equipment can’t help her. From her new perch, the ground looks like it is shrinking and in constant movement. 

Perhaps too late, Lily starts to wonder if there was another way to handle the situation. She didn’t even want to climb until Petunia said that she couldn’t. Before her sister even gets out all the words, Lily is scrambling up the trunk, and grasping at the lowest branches. With a few well-placed steps, she floats above Petunia’s disapproving grimace.

Now, her older sister is looking up at her with her hands on her hips. Though she can’t actually see Petunia’s facial expression, Lily has a pretty good idea of what it looks like. Petunia inherited the pursed lips, but she lacks the glitter from their mother’s eyes when she makes the same face. 

Lily grips the bark tightly and shifts to try to balance her weight. The whole tree sways more than she thought it would, and the branches aren’t as strong as they looked from the ground. A worrying creaking noise makes the usually adventurous child nervous. 

Getting up might have been the easy part, Lily realizes, but she can’t spend the rest of her life in a tree. 

Unlike the swings she likes so much, trees don’t have momentum to help her make the jump. Lily has perfected her leap from the swings, despite Petunia’s unending complaints, but it hasn’t prepared her for this. 

She takes a hesitant step onto a lower branch and hears it creak worryingly before she even shifts all of her weight. Lily pulls her foot back and instead tries to navigate visually through the maze of jutting branches.

Petunia calls up, “We have to get home!” with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Maybe I’ll just stay up here!” Lily half-threatens and half-worries, too quickly to sound like she is unphased. 

At least, she tells herself, she did it. 

Her sister tilts her head back to survey Lily’s current situation. She shakes her head. “I’m telling Mum,” Petunia replies primly.

“Well, I’m telling Dad!” Lily yells back.

Frustrated, Lily takes the plunge and lowers herself onto a different branch. She has to get down _somehow_. Only pausing for a few seconds while her foot searches for purchase, she moves down to another branch. If Petunia beats her home, she’ll weave some ridiculous story to blame Lily and get her in trouble. 

Of course, she’s not supposed to be climbing trees, but Dad will understand. He knows how Petunia goads her, gets under her skin, and makes her do things before she really thinks. If she can get to Dad while Petunia is tattling to Mum, everything will be okay. He’ll explain, and everything will work out without her getting in trouble.

Petunia turns to run toward the house, and Lily hears the branch crack beneath her.

The next hour is a blur of tears and trying to explain how everything happened. Her mother is so worried that she doesn’t even take the time to chastise her. 

Instead, her mother cleans away all of the blood without saying much and her father kisses over the bandages carefully. They give Lily an ice pack to take with her to bed and remind her to be more careful.

“So much for _magic_ ,” Petunia sneers.

Lily slams the bedroom door in her face.

Even after the worst of it heals, Lily has a small, white scar below her knee cap.

\--

From the time he’s barely old enough to remember, James finds parts of flowers scattered across his skin. 

He’ll come inside to wash up for dinner and find a few leaves dotting his elbow or a thorny stem on the side of his finger. He’ll wake up from what he thought was a particularly uneventful dream with some petals across his shin.

The plant outlines on his body aren’t permanent and constantly change. He can’t solve their pattern or really decide if there is one. A few days after they appear, just as he has time to start memorizing their shapes, they fade and then disappear like they were never there at all. 

Nothing he does appears to cause them or, for that matter, make them disappear. They come without warning and don’t have any obvious purpose. 

Scrubbing them in the bathtub doesn’t do anything to diminish their appearance. The sun doesn’t make them darker or lighter. They don’t give him super strength or improve his reflexes. Eating more vegetables doesn’t change their appearance, no matter what his mother insists. 

His parents don’t know what to make of them. Early on, they check every magical parenting book to find an explanation. The healer doesn’t know why they appear when they ask, but she also tells them that there is nothing to worry about, as long as everything else about him progresses in the normal range. 

When James continues to giggle, walk, and talk just fine, they accept it as just another fact of their child’s existence. 

Since magic whispers through their house and in their veins, they don’t spend too much time worrying. James is their healthy and growing little treasure of a boy, who happens to find a few flowers in between the bumps and bruises that come with being a mischievous child.

James conducts experiments in his father’s shop. Though he claims to be getting to the bottom of it, his parents just like to see him work. He’s splendidly curious and fantastically brilliant, they’ll brag to anyone who will listen. The childish schemes don’t net any answers, but most of the fun is in the trying. 

Still, the mystery of the flowers takes him by surprise sometimes. 

One afternoon, in the middle of a practice dive, James almost falls off his broom in shock when he catches sight of a jagged line slashed across his knee. He skids to a stop and throws himself onto the grass to investigate.

This flower is darker than all of the other ones he remembers, with a vine that climbs down his shin and up his thigh. He watches, fascinated, as it reaches down to his ankle and stops. The largest bloom is right below his knee, but smaller buds dot their way down his leg. 

This one takes more than a few days to disappear. 

As it starts to fade, the lines become less pronounced and the edges soften. The vine curls back and recedes toward his knee, but the biggest bloom stays for a few weeks. He develops a habit of flipping back the covers and checking it every morning to see if anything changed.

Weeks and months and years later, after several cycles of new leaves and flowers appear and vanish across other parts of his body, there’s a single petal left in the hollow below his knee.

\--

Curving vines, full blooms, and scattered petals routinely cover Lily’s arms and legs. 

Their appearance is nearly as frequent as the bumps and bruises she gets from climbing too high or jumping too far. She rarely backs down from a challenge, and it shows. Often, the flower marks and minor injuries overlap. A daisy will fade from her shin in time for a fresh bruise of her own to appear. 

Petunia’s reactions and her mother’s quiet voice work together to tell her that these things don’t happen to other people. It’s something else that her family doesn’t quite understand and makes her different from everyone she knows. 

To hide, Lily starts to favor longer skirts and wrapping them with bandages that cover the flowers as well as her own cuts and bruises.

One day, Lily moves a few actual petals between her fingers, trying to imitate the way the ones on her skin grow and move when she happens to notice them as they’re appearing. It starts as the trace of an idea, but the action comes naturally. A surge of joy and rightness goes through her when the flower in her hand responds to her thoughts. 

When she notices what Lily is doing, Petunia swats at her hands and shrieks for her to stop. 

Lily doesn’t. 

Maybe it’s all connected, she thinks wishfully, maybe there is some answer she can find.

Another day, a boy appears and says the flowers moving in her hands mean witches and magic. Lily may not know everything, but she knows that witch is a bad name for somebody. She flounces off behind her sister with her head high, feeling the closest thing to approval from her that Lily can remember. 

Witches might not all be bad, though, she reasons. After consulting her story books and wishing on a star, she goes back to the park to find out more. 

Finally, there is some explanation for why she can do things without meaning to or trying. Inexplicable results of her anger or frustration or happiness are _accidental magic_. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She should be proud. 

Days turn into weeks. They talk about Hogwarts and spells and owls who deliver letters. There are so many words and phrases to learn, so no one will know how little she knows about magic. She has a million questions, but Severus tries to answer every single one.

She doesn’t notice flowers on _his_ hands or legs, but they could be hidden by the strange clothes his mother gives him. 

Maybe he’s still the person to ask.

“Severus,” Lily says, after their conversation drifts into comfortable silence for a few minutes one afternoon. “What does this mean?” She sits up and pulls aside the neck of her shirt to reveal a new sunflower she discovered on her collarbone that morning. “Is this magic?”

Her friend’s eyes flicker from the lines on her skin to her face and back. The silence feels long. She notices a faint line between his eyebrows before he clears his throat and shrugs. “I’m not sure,” Severus admits. 

It’s the first time she can remember him not coming up with an answer for something she asks.

Lily shrugs, as if the question hasn’t been rattling around in her mind. He says there’s a big library at Hogwarts, so maybe the answer is stored away in a book there.

“That’s okay,” she replies. Lily settles back on the grass and looks up at the canopy of leaves above them. The light filtering down to them tells her they still have some time before she needs to get back for dinner. “Tell me about the houses again.”

\--

For the whole summer (and if you ask him, his whole life), James has been determinedly practicing in his parents’ backyard. He doesn’t need a captain to push him. It’s the only reason he’ll get out of bed before the sun rises. James has one goal in mind, and nothing will get in the way of him achieving it. 

Nearly every day, his mother has to drag him back inside for dinner. After eating his meal but before dessert, he’s outside again, intent on being the newest, greatest member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

Over and over, the quaffle soars through the makeshift hoops they built on one side of the lawn. James tries to imitate the pattern of a dive he studied in his worn copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_ until it meets his level of perfection. Before the sun gets too hot each morning, his father offers to throw muggle golf balls into the air so he can practice seeker reflexes. The best Quidditch players are the ones who are well rounded and practice every position. 

When he’s finally allowed to have a broom of his own at school, James wastes no time. He’s on the pitch as often as they’ll let him. Tryouts are upon him, and he has to be ready.

It’s abundantly clear how James Potter feels about the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Even once his spot on the team is secured, his dedication barely wavers. There’s less time for impromptu solo time on the pitch, as classes and mischief plans pick up, but he leaves every scheduled practice sore, sweating, and covered in new bruises. 

During games, James is known for quick reaction times and daring maneuvers. When he ends up hitting the ground after a particularly hard check by one of Slytherin’s chasers, James shakes off concerns from the referee and his captain to rejoin the game. One hand cradles his ribs while the other manages to help them score a few more goals.

Thankfully, before he can permanently hurt himself due to his own stubbornness, Gryffindor’s seeker catches the snitch and holds it up in victory. 

James turns immediately to find his classmates in the crowd. He returns Sirius’ fist pump, glows under the applause, and sends a wink toward Lily Evans. Just for good measure. 

He doesn’t notice the four buds of baby’s breath on his left palm until everyone leaves and he’s tucked into a bed in the Hospital Wing by Madame Pomfrey. 

\--

Despite her best hopes, coming to a school of magic with students who can do the things she can do didn’t give her an easy answer. If anyone else has flowers across their skin, they’re just as good at hiding them. Lily brings them up once as a hypothetical to Professor Flitwick, but he doesn’t know any charms that fit her description.

Lily tries to stop actively pursuing answers, or worrying. She isn’t getting anywhere, and it’s not helping. Doing so is easier said than done, but soon homework and a thousand other things become more important than the petals that may or may not mean something.

Throughout her first year, Lily starts to notice the flowers less frequently. For weeks at a time, she can actually almost forget about them. When one does appear, she notes it and has to tug on her socks to keep them up or remind herself not to roll the sleeves of her shirts. 

Over the summer, however, they come back with a vengeance. By now, they’re more annoying than perplexing. Lily carefully hides them and doesn’t bring up their resurgence to her family or Severus. They don’t have any answers, so it doesn’t feel like it’s worth mentioning anymore. 

The school year starts again, and the flowers don’t stop this time. They appear regularly on her legs and arms, becoming increasingly more difficult to hide. 

A Quidditch game is a time where she doesn’t have to worry about school work or unexplained flowers on her skin. She can be with her housemates and scream for a united purpose. They can forget about whatever is bothering them and focus on something fun.

Lily cheers along with the rest of the Gryffindors during the game. They gasp at all of the right times. Sirius Black joins her in booing loudly when a Slytherin chaser makes a dirty play that sends James Potter hurtling toward the ground. 

Everyone moves onto the edges of their seats to see what will happen next. Potter flies back into the air after a few seconds as if nothing happened. Immediately, he steals the quaffle from another Slytherin chaser and darts across the field to the hoops at the other end.

With a sharp jab of her elbow, Mary nudges her side when Lily misses a Slytherin goal and doesn’t react. 

“What’re you looking at, _Evans_?”

Using her surname wasn’t a mistake. Lily doesn’t have to look at her friend to know that she’s grinning. The tone suggests that Mary thinks she knows something, something that is absolutely _not_ whatever she is implying.

Lily forces her eyes away from the player who is still clutching his side and shakes her head. It’s nothing. She diligently follows the quaffle instead. 

Unclasping her hands, she leans forward to blend in with the rest of the crowd. She doesn’t notice the red crescents in her left palm where her nails dug into the skin. 

Later that night, she pulls her shirt over her head and immediately sees dark lines against the pale skin of her stomach. The new flower covers her whole side and makes her grab a dressing gown. She quickly ties it closed before anyone notices. 

Although she didn’t want to give them more of her time and attention, Lily looks at the flower for a long time in the mirror. They’ve appeared on her stomach before, but this one is almost angry looking. It wasn’t there this morning, and she can’t think of anything she did to cause it. Her only activities all day were watching the game and working on some essays.

As always, she isn’t any closer to an answer. She goes to bed with the thought that at least this one is easily hidden by her shirt. 

\--

The morning starts normally. 

James drags Sirius out of bed so they have time to eat something before classes start. Remus is already downstairs, insisting that he has to look over his notes during breakfast since the full moon is coming in a few days. 

Peter makes some joke that makes Sirius bark with laughter, and some of the tension in Remus’ shoulders relaxes. Settling into his seat, James fills his plate and listens to Sirius’ latest plan to make them legends.

In the middle of his explanation about the secret passage behind the One Eyed Witch, one redheaded girl pushes away from the table and stands. Though James swears he was listening only a few seconds before, he no longer hears what his friend says. 

In the noisy, bustling hall, she shouldn’t be so noticeable, but she immediately draws his attention. James’ head turns to her, noting how she pushes her red hair back and pauses. He catches a look of pain cross her face, but it clears as quickly as it came. Before he can guess what she will do next, Lily turns and nearly runs out of the Great Hall.

From that point on, the rest of the day just feels off.

Lily doesn’t appear in any of their classes. James catches himself looking over at her usual seat in each room and trying to glance away before anyone can notice. At least once, however, Sirius jabs him in the side to make him answer Professor McGonagall’s question.

For the parts he can hear, James takes extra care to make sure his notes are neat. 

When Lily comes back, he tells himself, she’ll want to make sure she didn’t miss anything. James has seen her deep in thought and studying enough to know how seriously she takes academic success. 

This is a small thing that he can do. 

The next time James sees her, Lily is alone. Instantly, he knows that something about her is different. Her back isn’t as straight, her eyes not as alert. Lily swipes a hand across her cheeks and doesn’t appear to see him.

“All right, Evans?” James calls, though he doesn’t have to speak loudly for her to hear him in the nearly empty corridor.

Lily turns at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” she answers quietly after a slight pause.

“I, er, took notes for you,” he says, trying to skip over any possible awkwardness between them. “Since you missed class.”

“Oh.” She pushes her hair back and he can see her green eyes more clearly. Something is definitely wrong. “I’m... I’m going home for a few days. If you wouldn’t mind…” Her voice drifts, but she snaps back. “Nevermind. It’s fine. I can ask Mary.”

“No,” James replies quickly, afraid that he missed something large and important. “I’ll take care of it. Notes for all of your classes when you get back.” It’s the only thing he can do, so he holds onto it. It’s something.

The smile she gives him is wobbly, but it’s better than any expression he’s seen from her since her exit from breakfast. “Thanks, James,” she answers. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

She gives the Fat Lady the password and climbs into their common room, holding the portrait open long enough for him to step in after her. Lily gives a little wave and goes up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. 

He watches until she disappears at the top of the staircase.

Later, right before he gets in the shower, James notices a rose across his chest in the mirror. It blooms over the place where he can feel his heartbeat. With his nose close enough to fog the glass, he watches it for at least a minute. 

It isn’t still growing, so there isn’t much to see. It’s another thing from the day that doesn’t have any explanation and keeps his mind turning as he’s trying to go to sleep.

\--

Everything is different when he’s Prongs.

The night feels endless and he can run as far as he wants. Padfoot barks happily at his side, Wormtail skitters through the grass, Moony growls playfully, and Prongs is free. There’s some responsibility, sure, but it’s mostly about being with his friends and, most importantly, there for one of them. 

He doesn’t think about breakouts or growing pains or girls. Well, it’s just one girl in particular, but it’s some time away from analyzing what everything she’s ever said to him means. 

His mind is clearer. It’s easy to get swept up in the feeling. 

After the first few full moons, their confidence increases. They’re brilliant, four of the most brilliant students the school has ever seen. They have a map to get them out of the castle and hours of uninterrupted time to explore parts of the grounds no one else knows. They’re invincible and can take on the world. 

Their unusual pack falls into an easy rhythm. The dog and stag can keep the wolf in check, while the rat can detect the smallest changes in the air. It only takes a few nights to work out the details and have a little fun.

It’s truly shocking how quickly things can go wrong. 

Padfoot’s bark turns into more of a distressed yelp. Prongs turns and charges toward the wolf, throwing him off of the dog with a proud swipe of his head. The wolf makes a sound in the back of his throat and lunges. 

He doesn’t remember the rest.

In the morning, the sting of his shoulder only brings back fragments of memories. He can remember a sharp pain and feel an ache in his muscles, but he can’t place the reason. It’s usually like this, he reminds himself. Not remembering doesn’t mean that something is wrong. It’s difficult to remember the particulars of being something else for a night. 

James sits up and gropes around the top of the bedside table for his glasses. Once the world is in focus, he notices the blood across his sheets and on the edge of the curtains. “Shit,” he whispers, clamoring out of bed. 

He shakes Peter’s shoulder to rouse him and tosses a pillow toward Sirius’ bed. When Peter sits up and Sirius throws the pillow back at him, James starts, “Where’s -”

“Hospital wing,” Sirius answers quickly, yawning widely. 

James winces again at the movement of his shoulder. “Right.” That’s where he should be the morning after a full moon. Even if everything goes perfectly, he needs the rest and attention of Madame Pomfrey. If Sirius isn’t concerned, that means that Moony is okay. 

He, however, can’t seek the same kind of treatment as Remus without getting some questions that are a bit too difficult to answer. Remus has a good reason to be in the Wing. James is supposed to be a boy who stays in bed all night, not a stag who learns secret parts of the grounds with a werewolf companion. 

He sits back on his bed heavily and lets out of breath. “Either of you blokes want to practice a healing spell?”

At the top of the opposite staircase, a few girls compare sweaters, debate about the weather, and prepare for a trip into Hogsmeade. The air has cooled, so they have to be sure to bundle up to make the walk down to the village. 

There are plans of butterbeer and chocolate, whispers of boys and dates. One girl hides her face in her hands when another teases her about her partner for the day. 

Suddenly, Mary gasps. “What is that?”

Lily spins in place, jumper still in her hands. “What?”

“The mark on your back!”

She attempts to crane her neck to see what her friend is talking about for a few seconds. “What mark?” she asks, before opting for the mirror in the bathroom instead. Lily aligns one of the makeup mirrors that the girls leave in the box by the sink to get a better view. 

This time, the lines on her shoulder blade make a daffodil. Getting one overnight is unusual but not unheard of for her. As Lily watches, some of the edges fade. It’s still there, gray instead of black, but she watches the shift in real time. 

It’s never done that before, at least not while she was watching. They don’t fade right after they arrive. Usually, there is more time, like a bruise fading until it isn’t there at all. 

Lily tilts the mirror a few different ways to make sure she’s seen it from every angle. Once the lines stop shifting, it looks like any other flower of hers. Satisfied for now, she snaps the compact closed and tugs on her sweater before going back into the dormitory. 

“It’s nothing,” Lily says, ignoring the skeptical look from Mary. “Let’s get to the Three Broomsticks before all the tables are taken.”

\--

Anyone who doesn’t feel the war breathing down their neck is either oblivious or lying to themselves. Harsh words echo in dark halls, people hold their breath before reading the front page every morning, and everyone keeps their wands close. 

Almost always, Lily does what she is told to protect herself. 

Whether it is class or a Quidditch game, she keeps her wand ready. She doesn’t walk the halls alone and insists on accompanying her friends everywhere. With her head held high, she ignores the slurs thrown her way as much as she can and doesn’t try to provoke hateful people into conflict. 

A year ago, she knows, they attacked Mary. Lily remembers the day, the hour, the minute she found out about it. She remembers holding Mary and whispering promises into her hair. They cried and wanted to scream. 

They felt powerless.

She watched her friend change overnight, and Lily vowed to do everything she could to stop it from happening again. 

She doesn’t need career advice. She knows what she will be doing when school is done. If she has to, she will face down this so-called Dark Lord herself to keep people safe.

Even with a clear memory of Mary’s shaking shoulders, it never really feels like it could happen to her. Although the possibility always lingers in the back of Lily’s mind, constant fear makes it both imminent and distant at the same time.

Nothing lets her know something might happen that day.

Her morning routine, breakfast, classes, and lunch paraded by in order. There was a report about suspicious activity in the paper, but she recalls feeling relief that it wasn’t another disappearance. She managed to cast the new charm in class within a few minutes, and Gryffindor won a few points for her effort. Lunch was filled with the jokes and laughter of friends.

For their free hour, she went with Remus to the library. They claimed their usual table and sat in comfortable silence to work on essays. 

At one point, Lily stood to get another book from one of the shelves. Reflexively, she checked that her wand was in her pocket before ducking down one of the aisles and searching.

That must have been where they caught her.

When Lily wakes up, her head is pounding and her chest is sore. Worst of all, she doesn’t know the details of where or how or why. It takes a few seconds and slow blinks to register that she’s propped up in a bed that isn’t her own. 

Beside her, there is a quiet gasp and clutching hand that takes hers. Mary squeezes her hand and says everything will be okay, but she has tears in her eyes. She can’t say much more, since her voice breaks in the middle of her short assurances. 

Lily nods absently, unsure of which of them needs more comforting.

Madame Pomfrey rushes over to her and puts a glass in her hand. As she reaches out to take it, Lily notices a thorny vine twisting itself across her knuckles. Her eyes lock on the mark until the matron nudges her arm and tells her to drink. She winces when she tastes it, but the nurse must have her reasons. 

Her body is still heavy, so she tilts her head back and closes her eyes. The feel of Mary’s hand is enough to assure her that she’s still breathing, even if she doesn’t know anything else. The voices around her are meaningless murmurs. 

Without warning, the bang of a door slamming against the wall jolts her. 

Lily looks up to see another person come into the Hospital Wing. He pushes away Madame Pomfrey and makes his way to her bedside. The rage is practically rolling off of him, but something softens when he touches the covers by the edge of her bed. 

“Evans,” he says, voice more gentle than his posture would indicate.

“This is an infirmary,” Madame Pomfrey swoops in, “and I won’t have anyone getting in the way of healing, Mister -”

“You’re all right?” His eyes quickly scan her features, as if looking for confirmation. 

Instead of answering, Lily fixates on the daisy that is growing from under James’ hairline, right where her own head gives another unforgiving throb. 

She flinches.

Instinctively, James reaches out to her. In the space between seconds, he changes his mind and drops his hand. 

Her eyes follow the path of his hand, noting the split knuckles. Sluggishly, she lifts her hand and turns it in the light to show the coiling plant across the back of her fingers.

“You have them too.”

\--

Lily is possibly the most stubborn person James knows. 

Really, that’s saying something, since James feels like he surrounds himself with the most stubborn people in the world. Sirius rarely even thinks about backing down from a disagreement. Remus might not be as upfront about it, but he can be unmovable when he makes up his mind. Even his mother doesn’t let age stop her from being relentless when she picks up something. 

Now, he is dating the most stubborn one of them all. 

Determination and strength do well for her. On her own merits, she won a spot near the top of their class. She is fiercely independent and more than capable. James doesn’t need anyone to remind him (he’s usually the one reminding them, actually) that she is more than competent and absolutely brilliant. 

At times, though, he wishes someone was allowed to see past the curtain she draws around herself. 

A quest to prove something makes Lily more guarded with her emotions than James. He openly relies on his friends, while her supports are more subtly outlined. He wants to shout in the middle of the Great Hall, while she would rather say something only he can hear.

It isn’t that she never shows her emotions. He knows that Lily loves him. In quiet moments, she leans her forehead against his shoulder and whispers words that still make him glow. She pushes her fingers through his hair and wishes for another five minutes before they have to go back to the world.

She stands up for what she believes in, even when no one else stands behind her. She doesn’t let anyone talk her out of what she thinks is right. She’ll do anything for her friends and will work diligently on something until there’s nothing left to do. 

A history of doing that, however, makes her think that she has to give everything a shot alone.

“I’m fine,” she says.

If the tilt of her chin and gleam in her eyes weren’t such turn ons, James might have screamed.

Remembering the flower he noticed and the way she barely but noticeably flinched when he touched her back, James shakes his head. “Lily, I know something happened. Just tell me.” His words sound more begging than commanding, but she’s the only one around to hear them.

“It’s fine,” she repeats. Lily pulls him closer with the arm that’s already across his shoulders and attempts to tug him down to meet her. She adjusts beneath him and tries to return to what they were doing before he broke away from their kisses.

Before her lips can distract him, James tries again. “Lily.”

With a frustrated groan, she falls back against his pillow. 

“If they did something to you,” he says, seizing the few seconds she’s given him, “please just tell me. They can’t get away with -”

“I don’t even know how you heard,” she cuts in. “It wasn’t anything. They don’t need the satisfaction of you going off at them. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

The look in her eyes is familiar. He loves the Gryffindor pride and courage in her, but he can see it playing out again and again in their lives. He can see her hiding things away because they’re too scary or uncomfortable to make herself face them another way. 

Instead of speaking, James takes her hand and guides it to the mark he found earlier that day on his back. His shirt is already discarded, so her hand slides easily across his skin. He notices her sit up, and she pushes him gently forward to see where he’s drawn her attention. 

Lily gasps softly and follows the outline of the flower with her fingertip. Her touch is a new kind of magic, calming him and making his heart race at the same time. 

She kisses his temple, and he turns his head to look at her again. Lily kisses him softly and leans her forehead against his. “I’ll tell you next time,” she promises quietly, and he knows she means it. 

Lily leans closer and succeeds in pulling him down with her.

The next morning, they have new flowers hidden underneath their clothes and a shared secret in their smiles.

\--

In the past year, Lily has become particularly good at being aware of James, regardless of what else is happening around them. In an instant, she knows where he is and moves accordingly. 

If she had to describe it, she would say that it’s like a physical connection, linking her mind and heart and soul to his. There can be a thousand people in the room or just the two of them. It can be a regular day of errands and research or the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. No matter what, she can feel his presence. 

When the hoods and masks appear, her wand is ready. James is in her peripheral vision.

The enemy comes closer, reinforcing the fact that she let them back her into a corner. Lily’s back is literally against a wall, and she’s nearly out of options. 

Her silver doe patronus darts above the fray, possibly wasting an extra few seconds but giving someone else a chance to respond. A flash cracks over her head, and she ducks. She holds out her wand with an air of confidence she doesn’t have. 

For once, she realizes, she’s lost track of him. Her mind spins.

Suddenly, a hand closes over her arm. Somewhere in front of her, a few voices speak at once. Sparks fly. Her heart beats so loudly they can probably hear it. The warm hand on her arm is a savior rather than a threat, and the sensation of being squeezed in every direction never felt so welcome.

Sounds of curses reflecting off every available surface and just missing their marks replay in Lily’s head the second her feet touch the ground again. 

Instantly, she knows that they are safe, even if she can’t articulate exactly why. The house is as they left it, but she doesn’t take a moment to recognize that fully.

Hands are everywhere - on her hips, tracing her side, sliding into her hair. Every nerve ending tells her that James is here. The few seconds of loss are forgotten when his lips crash against hers, trail along her skin, and decide that they need to meet her mouth again.

Her own touches and kisses are just as frantic. She presses herself against his body, hooks a leg around him, and needs to be even closer. Every sound, every feeling, every second is proof that he’s here, she’s here, they’re here. 

Anything between them is an unnecessary barrier. Robes separate them, so they pull them over their heads and throw them aside. 

Her vocabulary is reduced to a few words, until even those are less important than his name. He whispers against her skin, making promises she can’t hear and repeating her name.

It’s their own form of celebration and rebellion. Her dirty hands make his pure blood sing.

After, they lay on their sides in bed, facing and watching each other. His fingers explore her in ways that signal comfort and endless time instead of hurry and worry. He leaves a trail of lit nerves across her cheek, down her arm, and over her collarbone. She closes the gap between them with a soft kiss and lets her hands linger.

Lily doesn’t notice the sore throbbing on her own shoulder until she pulls away and sees a black line on James’ skin along the path of her pain. Her fingers move to trace it. Her shoulder gives a painful pulse when her fingertips ghost over the mark. 

James flinches, a line of worry forming on his forehead, and tries to sit up, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking ready to make a plan.

She stills him by softly pressing her palm over the flower on his skin.

“We’re going to be all right,” she promises.

\--

Morning light comes in through the flimsy curtains, rousing him from sleep. The sun is enough to wake James, but the person next to him barely stirs. She’s on her side with blankets clutched possessively around her.

After the first morning in the flat, when all of the natural light woke her, Lily cleverly claimed the more shielded half of the bed as her own. Though he prodded her about it a few times since then, he mostly uses it as an excuse to sleep particularly close to her. If he presses himself against her back or buries his nose in her hair, the light won’t get to him either.

Now, he can’t begrudge her any spare moments of sleep that the claimed spot wins her.

James rolls his neck and stretches to work out some of the stiffness from sleep. He sits up and kicks off his share of the blankets, yawning widely. 

One glance at the new lines on his skin is enough to spur him into action. When vines start to curl around his ankles and lower back, James knows what to do. He quietly gets out of bed and pads across the floor softly. Along the way to the bathroom, he picks up a sweater to tug over his head. He closes the bedroom door behind him slowly. 

When Lily wakes up half an hour later, James is back in bed, sitting up with his back propped against the headboard. She rolls over with a groan and hides her face against his hip. 

“Brought you some tea,” he offers, stroking her hair.

She makes a sound that isn’t quite a word at first. “I blame you for this,” she mumbles after a few seconds, voice muffled against him.

James smiles. “That’s fair.”

Lily rolls onto her back and stretches. Partway through, her hand jumps to her belly. Her eyes are still closed, but now there’s a small smile on her face. After a second to confirm what she feels, she opens her eyes. She takes his wrist and pulls his hand over the spot. 

By now, Lily and James know what the little kicks feel like. They both grin, temporarily forgetting about the flowers on his skin and the aches in her muscles. He bends to say something to her stomach, and Lily giggles when his breath tickles her skin.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says once the movements calm, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

“That’s how we got into this mess,” Lily answers cheekily.

“Well, I meant a nice, innocent massage, but if your mind jumps to -”

“Yes, do that,” she replies quickly. “My back is killing me.” 

Lily pushes herself up with minimal help and moves to settle herself between his legs, facing away from him. From the bedside table, she lifts the cup of tea and takes a sip. 

The blooms don’t disappear when he kneads the knots in her muscles or drops kisses along her shoulder while they talk, but James swears they start to fade a little.

\--

When Lily starts struggling to put her shoes on without help, the days start to drag. They’re both antsy, she knows, to meet their baby, but James’ impatience is nothing next to hers. People may think of him as the brash one of their pair, but sitting still this long drives her to distraction.

James finished painting the nursery weeks ago, all the while insisting that she couldn’t go anywhere near the fumes. Lily has folded, sorted, and refolded every impossibly small article of clothing they’ve collected or been given. A bag is packed by the door, and she swears that James keeps asking her how she feels on the hour.

The grainy black and white image from the ultrasound she splurged for around James’ birthday has its prominent place on their mantle. More than anything, she would like to replace it with a new moving picture.

Since it could happen any day, time slows. In the beginning, it felt like they would never have enough weeks to get everything ready. They had to make themselves and the house ready for a new living, breathing, moving, squirming life. They had to learn how to be parents.

Until the baby comes, though, there’s nothing else they can do. Lily flips through the books every night, but she has large parts of them memorized. James paces and worries that they’re missing something, but neither of them can figure out what it might be. They wait, stop mentioning the due date, and wait some more.

Then, everything happens at once. 

New, persistent pain shoots up her side. In the middle of a chapter of her book, Lily’s hand goes to her middle, giving herself a few seconds to assess what she feels. It’s stronger than anything else she remembers, but she takes a slow breath. A few minutes later, it returns, but she can still hold the book steady and keep her eyes on the page.

For awhile, she can mostly ignore it. She doesn’t even want to tell James right away, in case it’s just a false alarm. He’ll want to know how to help, and she has no recommendations to give him at the moment.

Part of her doesn’t believe it’s actually happening. They’ve talked about it endlessly, so the real thing doesn’t feel so real.

At some point, she doesn’t know exactly when, James notices, despite her efforts. His hand slips into hers, and he kneels beside her spot on the sofa. “All right, Evans?” he asks, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“It’s Potter now,” she answers, repeating a joke they’ve both heard a million times. The familiar words make her laugh, even if it’s cut short by a gasp.

Everything hurts and starts moving even faster. It becomes harder for Lily to disguise the pressure of a contraction. Without checking, James swears he can feel the buds getting darker across his stomach.

Flowers bloom across Lily’s skin where she crushes James’ hand in hers.

After a great deal of pain and sweat, both of their hearts seize at the sound of a cry. 

Lily reaches out and pulls the bundle to her. She looks down at him with adoration and holds on like he’s the most precious thing in the world - because he is. Fear and joy compete for a place, but the strongest thing she feels is pure, absolute, overpowering love.

James manages to fit next to her in the bed and can’t take his eyes off of the rounded cheeks and tiny fingers. They all fit together. The little boy in the crook of her arm, Lily against his chest, and James with his arms around both of them.

“Oh, Harry,” Lily whispers reverently, grinning when the newly named baby’s mouth stretches in a big yawn. “Mama and Daddy love you so much.”

\--

The days blend into each other when one isn’t significantly different from another. 

Lily meticulously fills a scrapbook with pictures and captions about everything Harry learns and does. James comes up with new games every few days to keep him entertained and as happy as he can.

He’s growing, and they don’t have to miss it. That’s a good thing, they whisper to each other, when the other person looks particularly lost.

Still, they would like to show him other things. They want to visit friends because they decide to and not because they arrange it through letters a week in advance. James would like to take Harry on a proper broom ride and show his son one of his favorite views of the world. Lily wants to actually use the pram sitting in their front hallway and show off her brilliant son to anyone who will pay attention.

Even though being in hiding is what is keeping them all alive, they wonder if it’s letting them live. 

They both may be frustrated with the situation, with being shut up in a cottage with limited space and even more limited options, but they still have each other. Any time he’s scared, James catches sight of her and feels some of the tension release. Lily sees him staring out of the window in the kitchen and slips her cold fingers under his shirt to let him know that she’s there.

And they still find ways to tell each other they love them. 

With her hair mussed and sheets half-heartedly thrown over her, James wonders if anyone else has ever been as beautiful as the woman he married. 

Without realizing that he’s started doing it, James follows the lines of a dandelion on Lily’s thigh with his finger. She giggles and moves to press a soft kiss against his mouth. After a second, she continues her story about the incredible thing Harry did today.

Once James notices the subject of his tracing, his eyes dart to the matching bruise on his leg. It doesn’t hurt right now, and he can’t even remember exactly what he did to cause it. In the increasingly small home where Harry is getting progressively more mobile, they’re always running into something. 

He ducks his head and kisses Lily more urgently, rolling her onto her back. 

She laughs again and wraps her arms around him, pulling him down until his lips skim over her jawline. “Since we’re stuck here,” she says, running a hand through his hair, “there’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with.”

James welcomes the wild flower that appears on his skin when he playfully nips her neck and covers it with a kiss.

\--

It’s supposed to be a night of too many sweets, laughing on the couch, and letting Harry stay up past his bedtime. He’s already in his pajamas, but Lily can’t bear to put him to bed just yet when he snuggles against her.

Instead, a bang of the front door stops everything. It sends James into the hall and Lily running up the stairs. 

She doesn’t get to kiss him hard like she did before every assignment for the Order. She doesn’t get to crush him against her and ensure that he knows how she needs him. He rounds the corner, and the drop in her stomach says that she won’t see him again.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

Those aren’t his last words, she repeats to herself. She makes it to the second story of the house and keeps running. Those can’t be his last words. 

Slamming the door behind her, she scans the painstakingly decorated nursery for anything that can be useful. She can hear James fall but can’t make out the exact words that caused it. Lily screams and shoves everything she can find in front of the door. She mumbles nonsense to her son, trying to convince both of them that things will somehow be okay.

She holds Harry against her pounding heart and tries to think of anything but James, lying broken on the floor. She doesn’t have time to cry or reminisce about playful days by the lake and finding home in James’ arms. 

When someone else enters the room and flicks away her barricade without a second thought, Lily drops Harry into his crib and throws her arms out to shield him.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

The unthinkable is happening. The man (if he can even be called that anymore) in front of her is speaking, but she can’t hear anything he says. James’ possible last words (they can’t be, they can’t be) replay in her head, drowning out whatever the villain is trying to tell her. 

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”

Of course, she’ll die for him. She’ll do anything for him. She has to beg for him, because there’s nothing else she can do. Her wand is downstairs, but she’s the only thing left protecting her son. 

The charm fell. James fell. She’s all that is left.

Through the years, she said repeatedly that the person threatening her is hardly human. To do what he has, to spread fear and hatred the way he has, it’s easier to see him as something different from everyone else she’s known. 

Maybe he’ll take sick joy in extinguishing her dirty life and leaving Harry as a reminder. Maybe there’s still a part of him, hidden somewhere, who draws lines. 

Maybe her personal shield can be enough to keep the boy behind her breathing.

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry!” Lily shakes her head and refuses to move from her place. If there’s any chance that she can stop or slow him, she has to take it. “Not Harry! Please - I’ll do anything -”

Lily knows, as she stands in front of her son’s crib and faces possible death, that a flower is blooming over her rapidly beating heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @women-inthe-sequel!


End file.
